


Cats & Criminals

by Evaldrynn



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Love, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quick Burn, Smut, Teasing, cat!Loki, he's mostly his 'human' self though don't worry, loki has escaped before they could catch him, reader is female, set after the attack on new york
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-21 16:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11360985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evaldrynn/pseuds/Evaldrynn
Summary: I saw a picture of a black cat with green eyes on the internet lately and I thought: hey, why not write a fic based on that? I'm sure it has been done many times before (there must be some kind of prompt for it, I just know it) but I just couldn't help myself.In contrast to Fǫruneyti (my other LokixReader fic) this is going to be a really fast burn, but I'll try to keep it sweet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the first chapter! I have no idea how many there are going to be, but it probably won't reach more than seven or something. Short and sweet, with some nice smut for all you lovely sinners. But here's number one for now, please enjoy!

“See you tomorrow!” 

You waved at Lisa, your colleague and friend, as the glass doors opened with a 'swoosh' and allowed you to step outside. You moved your hand through your hair and let out a sigh. Another long day at work, but you had survived – although with slight difficulty. Jason had been a real arse again, and your boss wasn't much better, and every unpleasant interaction with either of them had sucked the energy right from your body. It felt as if your eyelids could fall shut any moment simply because you lacked the strength to keep your eyes open much longer. Home. You longed to be home. The prospect of the soft pillows on the couch and a warm cuppa in your hands set your weary legs in motion, and you forced your mind to focus. Just a fifteen minute walk and you'd be able to throw yourself on the sofa. 

The cold breeze brought back some of your liveliness as you traversed the cobblestone streets, hitting you in the face to keep you awake. To your slight annoyance you were still easily distracted: the smell of fresh bread from the nearby bakery nearly lured you inside, and the shimmer of a pretty gemstone had you standing in front of the window for at least a minute, your mind drifting off. No, you needed to move on, to go home. Then you'd be able to make yourself some dinner, or possibly order some takeout, and you could be distracted all you wanted. 

Your resolve seemed to stay intact for another few streets – until you noticed the cat. 

It was beautiful, with deep black fur and a slim, elegant build, and the instant urge to pet it bubbled up from within. You were the kind of person who would pet every cat in sight, and so this one was no exception. It wasn't too far away, so you sank through your knees and extended your hand. 

“Here, kitty kitty.” 

The cat froze and glanced your way. It's eyes were a beautiful green, bright and yet deep, like the gemstone you had seen in the shopping window. What was its name again? Amethyst? No, emerald - eyes like polished emerald. You moved a bit closer, slowly, keeping your hand stretched out and a smile on your face hoping you wouldn't scare it away, but the cat didn't move as it kept its eyes fixed on you. It almost seemed... amused. You took it as a sign to keep going. Another step and the cat was within reach, so you softly brushed your fingers over its head. It tensed a bit, but it didn't run off, and you gently glided your fingers over its back. So soft, so incredibly soft. It must be a special breed of some kind, but then why didn't it have a collar? Maybe it had a chip? You gave it a few more strokes, smiling contently, before pushing yourself up on your legs again and giving it a short wave. You really should go home.

“Have a good day!” 

 

And the next day you spotted it again. Everywhere. 

On the stone wall outside the coffee shop – _you gave it a soft brush over its head before entering and ordering a cappuccino to go_ – on the bench at the entrance to the park – _you wondered how he got there so fast_ – outside your work – _this was getting strange_ – and, finally, in your street when you reached the tiny house squashed between two larger ones. Your house. 

You stopped in front of your still closed door. It's eyes were fixed on you, they had been every time you noticed it, and it made you wonder. 

“Are you... Are you lost?” 

You lowered through your knees again and extended a hand as an invitation to come closer. It seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then strode over in that elegant way that only cats seemed to posses. You let your hand glide over it's black coat. No collar, and it seemed a bit thin, but it couldn't possibly be a stray – not with the healthy shine to its soft fur and the liveliness of its bright eyes. 

You nodded to yourself, your decision made. Before the cat had the chance to flee you gently picked it up and kept it against your chest. It seemed at a loss for what to do, struggled for a bit, slight panic and confusion in its eyes, but relaxed against you when you gave it a few strokes. It must be domesticated then, right? You took your keys from your back pocket, fumbled with it for a moment, but managed to find the right one and inserted it into the lock before twisting it and pushing open the door. You closed it with your bum and set the creature down. 

“Hang on, let me get my camera. Your owner will definitely recognise such a pretty kitty.” 

You shrugged off your coat, traversed the narrow hallway, past the stairs leading up, and searched the living room for the device after throwing the heavy garment over the chair by the window and slipping off your shoes. Within seconds you had found it, and one turn of the switch told you the batteries still had some power left. You could make posters to stick to street lanterns and walls and you could post the picture on Facebook - a cat like this would be missed soon and you were sure the owner would start searching to get it back. Or maybe it had escaped a pet shop? 

“If you mean Odin; I doubt he would even recognise me in different clothing.” 

A deep, silvery voice, British-sounding, like yours. You froze. Cats couldn't talk – were you going insane? Had you imagined it? Had that muesli bar at lunch been a mistake? Slowly, you turned around, but where the cat had stood were now two leather boots – connected to legs, hips, a torso -

You stumbled backwards a bit, eyes wide as you met the gaze of the man standing in the middle of your living room. He was smirking, mischief glinting in his eyes, and continued.

“Thor, however, might indeed recognise my likeness. That is why I would prefer it if you put away the device.” 

An order, no doubt, going by the authority in his voice. His clothing style was more than questionable – it looked like he stepped right out of a fantasy action film – yet it seemed too well-made to be a costume. His eyes were the same piercing emerald as those of the cat, his gaze just as intense, and his slicked-back, shoulder-length hair the same raven black as its fur had been. No, no this couldn't be – cats didn't turn into men just like frogs didn't turn into princes. Those were bedtime stories for children, fables, fairy tales; not reality. And yet everything seemed to point at it. 

“Who are you?” You thanked the Gods your voice didn't waver, and sounded more confident than you felt. You kept your fear on a tight leash. 

He almost seemed offended by your question, yet then his glance shifted into satisfaction and a subdued delight and his smirk appeared again. “You haven't seen the news, I presume?” 

There weren't many interesting series on the telly lately, and you hadn't turned it on in a while; actually, you didn't watch much tv at all. Not to mention that the news only ever had depressing stuff to report, so even if you did turn on the large, old-fashioned box on the dresser against the wall, the news wouldn't even be the channel you switched to.  
Was this... Was this some kind of pranking show? Were there hidden cameras? You didn't dare take your eyes of the man in front of you. This situation could be dangerous, everything about him seemed to scream _danger_ , and one mistake might be the last one you would ever make. You were too young to be dismembered and raped, thank you very much. 

He set a step forward. You hesitated whether you should step one back. He was still half the room away, but you had the feeling he could outrun you no matter the distance. Maybe it was best to show as little fear as possible. 

“From now on I will stay here and you will not say a word to anyone about me, understood?” 

He brought it so sweetly, yet his tone left no room for discussion: another order. Was he a criminal in hiding? Was he really a murderer, then? Not a prankster show host? Shit, keeping your hands from shaking was getting increasingly difficult. You needed to get yourself together again.

“Why here?” 

For only a fraction of a second he seemed a bit taken aback by your question, but he hid it so quickly it left you wondering if you had really seen it in the first place, or if it had merely been your imagination. Then: “I have my reasons.” 

Okay. Okay. Breathe in, breathe out. What was the thing you needed to do in these kinds of situations, apart from trying to stay calm? If you screamed, you would be dead and he would be gone before any help arrived, so that wasn't an option. Don't fight, be polite, and find the right moment to inform the police. Yes. That seemed like a solid plan. 

“Okay. Well, uhm, will you stay like this, or?” He merely looked at you, gaze blank and unreadable, and it was starting to unnerve you. “I mean, that cat – it was you, right?” You braced yourself for his laugh, for the cameramen to come out and tell you that you had been utterly fooled; but when it didn't happen that hope was completely lost. 

“Ah yes, the 'pretty kitty', in your words.” He grinned, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “But to answer your question: no, I will not take on that form again unless the situation calls for it.” 

So he... He could really turn into a cat? Well with all the superhero things going on in America, it shouldn't surprise you. Wait, was he a villain, then? Were those American muscle-loafs coming here to search for him? What would the punishment be for hiding a villain? But what would the punishment be for disobeying one? Torture and death, no doubt. Gods, what had you gotten yourself into. 

“All right... Because it costs less to feed a cat than a person, so I don't know for how long you'll be staying?” 

“For no set amount of time. A few weeks, a couple of months, a decade, who knows.” His smirk only grew. 

You froze again. Bloody hell – a decade? A decade housing a possibly-murderous-man in your tiny house? You didn't even have a guest room for fucks sake! Keep breathing, keep breathing. He could be gone in a week. You could probably find a moment in which you could call the cops and pray they caught him. 

“And I assume I have no say in the matter?” 

“None at all,” he seemed please to inform you. He set an elegant step forward. You held your ground. He set another one as he said: “Don't even think about telling anyone; I will know, and you will not like the consequences. If you serve me well, however,” another step, and he was only inches away, “you will be lavishly rewarded.”

You glanced up at him, trying to ignore how he stood incredibly close and was quite a bit taller than you, and tried with all your might to sound irritated. “The reward better cover the cost for your food and housing. And, seeing as you definitely need different clothing than this, you better pay me for that, too.” 

He grinned. “Feisty; I like it. But there is no need to worry.” He stepped away and, with a flick of his wrist, his outfit changed into a fashionable one. Black pants with a green dress shirt, the upper two buttons left open. 

After the initial shock you had to admit, he could have looked worse. Much worse. 

No - _no_ \- you were not going full Stockholm-syndrome here. Sure, he was handsome, incredibly handsome, with his pronounced cheekbones and sharp jawline, but for all you knew he could have murdered dozens of people!  
You sighed and dragged a hand down your face. 

“So you don't eat cat food, then?” That would be so much cheaper. He only shot you a look, and you sighed in disappointment. “You'll sleep on the couch.” 

“I will not.” 

“You don't have another option.” 

“You must have a bedroom.” 

“It's mine.” And besides, the bed probably wasn't even big enough for two people. 

“We'll see,” was all he replied, a dark grin on his pale face, and you rolled your eyes. 

You moved to the kitchen and felt how the adrenaline slowly started fading away, leaving only emptiness and a heavy exhaustion in its wake. Right. Dinner. You guessed he would want some, too. So, for the next thirty minutes, you prepared some pasta, a pan of sauce, and a salad for on the side. You managed to keep from burning yourself for once, or hitting something, or otherwise accidentally harming yourself, and you thanked the universe that it had spared you that shame. For now. Maybe black cats really brought misfortune, after all. 

 

You set everything on the knee-high table and sat down on the couch with a huff, making sure there was enough distance between the two of you. You managed to scoop a bit of everything on your plate and began forking it into your mouth. Not great, not bad, either. Just pasta. Not that you cared how it tasted right now – all you could really think of was pushing all this bloody drama aside and falling asleep under the sheets. Still, a part of you was curious as to whether he would like it. You hadn't had many guests apart from the occasional Lisa-visit, but even she had come less and less often, and it wasn't every day that you had someone to test your cooking skills on. So you glanced at him from the corner of your eye as he took a bite. He seemed rather... surprised. Positively surprised, even, but he didn't speak or look at you. He merely continued eating with gusto, and you kept yourself from growing a content smile. 

As you watched him, a few things came to your attention:  
One, he was ravenous. You must have been right when you noticed how his cat form had been a bit too thin.  
Two, there was a bit of red around his eyes, as if he hadn't slept for a while, or as if he was ill.  
Three, his glance was not only distant but troubled as well, maybe even pained.  
Four, a red blotch started growing on his arm. 

You set down your plate, reached over, and grabbed his arm, too tired to think rationally. He dropped his fork at the sudden contact and shot you a glare, but you merely unbuttoned his sleeve and rolled it up to reveal the large cut. Without saying anything you stood, walked to a cabinet above the kitchen counter, took out the first aid kit, and returned, sitting down closer to him this time. He didn't take his eyes off you. No; he studied you, followed your every movement, as if he doubted your intent was of a good nature. And maybe it shouldn't be of good nature, maybe you _should_ dump a whole lot of nasty chemicals into the wound, but you shook your head to shoo the thought away. Consequences, consequences.

After rummaging through the plastic box for a bit you pulled out a little bottle of pure alcohol and a rag. A bit of alcohol on the fabric, screwing the bottle cap back on, and you were ready to go. 

You pulled his arm closer toward you and, hesitantly, he allowed it, resting it in your lap as you washed the blood away. He didn't do as much as flinch when the stinging liquid seeped into his open flesh. When that was cleaned up you inspected it and nodded to yourself – no stitches needed. You wrapped some linen bandaging around it and fixed it in place. Finally, you scooted away to the other side of the couch, and resumed eating. All without making a sound. 

He studied you again. Eyes scanning your face, your hands, your eyes, before he turned back to the table and helped himself to a second serving. And, later, a third, until none was left in the pot. You had only finished half your own helping, but you were too tired to move your jaw anymore and so you didn't even think twice when you handed him your own plate as well. He seemed surprised again, his intense gaze softening a bit, but you didn't pay it any attention as you gathered the used things and set them into the sink. Tomorrow, you would clean them tomorrow. Now: sleep. 

With your eyes half-lidded you shuffled through the living room, managed to huff a 'good night', moved down the hall and up the stairs, found your room, and let yourself fall face-first on top of it. Bad idea. Now all energy had left you, and you still had to put on your pj's and brush your teeth. 

A few sighs, huffs, and groans of protest later you got yourself upright, to the bathroom, where you finished your last tasks and returned. Upon entering your room, again, you noticed the extra blanket at the foot of your bed. It might get cold tonight, but... It was best not to anger Mister Murder downstairs. And so, with another sigh of disagreement, you grabbed the blanked and dragged it down the stairs and into the living room. 

That's when you noticed the clean dishes on the counter top in the adjoining room. All right, at least he had some kind of decency in him - and secretly you were glad that task had been taken off your hands – but it still didn't change the fact that you wanted him gone as soon as possible. You moved your gaze to your 'guest' and saw him splayed out on the couch, head on one armrest and ankles on the other as it was too small to accommodate him fully. Had he already drifted off? You shuffled closer and used the last bit of your energy to unfold the blanket and lay it over him, casting a last glance at his face - 

To see him watching you. Intently. 

You merely sighed, shook your head to show how you really didn't like the situation he had forced on you, but pushed a smile on your face nonetheless. Keep him on your good side, and you wouldn't get hurt. Self-preservation. 

“G'night.” 

And you left him to find your bed.


	2. Chapter 2

You awoke to your alarm clock and slapped it off with a lot more force than necessary. Your body had been too exhausted to stay awake, but your mind had tortured you with nightmares of blood and murder and rape and screaming. You remembered waking up in the middle of the night with a shriek, bathing in cold sweat, sheets tangled around your feet as if to keep you from escaping, but your energy had not been fully restored yet and soon the darkness of the night had claimed your consciousness again. You hadn't rested as thoroughly as you had craved. 

As you put on some clothes, gathered your stuff, and made your way downstairs, you repeated your newly found mantra: be polite, don't do anything stupid, and everything will be all right. Be polite, don't do anything stupid, and everything will be all right. Be polite, don't do anything stupid, and everything -

You let out a soft sigh of relief when you noticed he was asleep, and tiptoed past him to the kitchen. Should you make some for him as well? You didn't think he would get angry if you didn't, but it was better to be safe than sorry. He had used the word 'serve', after all. You tried to lower the temperature of your blood before it started boiling. You weren't a servant, you weren't a criminal, and you weren't a B&B either. You were a grown woman with a job, a house – however shitty both may be – and a life of her own. But you would play along; only for now, you told yourself – even though 'now' could mean anything between a couple of weeks and a decade, apparently. 

You got out two plates and lay two slices of toast on yours, six on his, before throwing some butter and salt on it. There wasn't much left of anything in the house so you would need to go to the store soon – but that was fine. The more you could avoid him, the better. You pealed two bananas and lay an apple beside it on his plate as well, no idea how hungry he would still be after yesterday's dinner; again, better to be safe. 

One last glance at the thrown-together breakfast before you picked up the plates and brought it to the table. He was awake – maybe he had been since you came downstairs, you didn't know – and his glance seemed almost kind, though it may have been a trick of the light and the sleep still crusted in your eyes. He took the plate and dug in much like yesterday: all elegance gone for a moment. 

As you studied him while nibbling on your toast you came to the conclusion that the form of a cat truly fit him. He was slim, every movement he made seemed calculated (apart from when he was eating, apparently), and his eyes seemed to speak of intelligence and a fondness of mischief. Even his smirk had been a bit feline. 

Then you realised you didn't know his name. Should you ask? Would he even give you his real name? Not that you cared, of course; but it would be easier to have something to call him. 

“You never told me your name.” Soft; casual. You even felt casual, as if he wasn't some kind of criminal using your home as a hiding spot, as if he hadn't haunted your dreams mere hours ago. You didn't know why. 

“You never asked.” He shot you a playful look before starting on his sixth piece of toast. 

You rolled your eyes, but somehow... Somehow he felt less and less dangerous. Maybe it was the fact that he attacked his food like a starved lion, or maybe it was the glimmer in his eyes whenever he was amused – you had seen it when he had been a cat, too. 

“I'm asking now?” Yet you managed to keep your voice light. 

His grin only grew, and he sat back up from his empty plate to lean against the backrest, one arm draped over it and one ankle resting on his knee - completely at ease, as if he had been living here for much longer than a single night. He brought the apple to his lips, but spoke first. 

“How about you give me yours first?” 

Should you? Well, if he was to stay longer, he would find out who you were pretty soon anyway; and it wasn't safe to lie. So, you gave him your real name – but first name only. Yet something about his smirk told you he had already known. Had it been a test? You were pretty sure you had passed, then. You waited. He held your gaze. You didn't look away. Was he ever going to tell you or was this another test, to see how patient you were, or how stubborn? 

Finally, he spoke. “Loki.” 

You blinked. It wasn't a name you had ever heard before. Was it a fake one? Was it American? It didn't sound that way. It sounded more Scandinavian than anything else, really. You scanned him for a moment, and concluded that his name fit him. 

“All right. Loki.” His eyes darkened a bit but you ignored it and stood. “I'm off to work; should be back by six, maybe seven if my boss gives me extra paperwork. Please don't break anything in the meantime.” You sighed, rubbing the last bit of crust from your eyes. “I would say make yourself at home but it's clear you've already done that.” You ignored his trademark smirk as well, put on your shoes, and grabbed your coat from the chair over which you had thrown it yesterday. “There's lemonade in the fridge and there's still some fruit left, but I'll go to the shops tomorrow to get some groceries.” You made a nondescript movement with your hand. “So yeah. If there's anything you fancy, write it on a piece of paper. I'll see you tonight.” And off you went, not even glancing back.

You hoped he was gone before you returned. 

 

By the end of the day you were even more broken than the day before. You even passed by the usual distractions without noticing it, thoughts like white noise laying heavy inside your head. After you stepped inside your home, closed the door with your bum, and made your way to the living room, you nearly yelped. You had completely forgotten about the man you were now living with. 

There was a new cut on his cheek, a droplet of blood trickling out and gliding to his chin, and one on his hand too. You tried not to cry out at how he had stained your couch, but didn't want to know where and how he had got them and so, without saying a word, you got out the plastic box again and sat down on the couch next to him.

“Look to the right, please.” 

He followed your request and you gingerly grabbed his chin to hold him in place as you swiped the alcohol-drenched rag over the cut. It seemed as if... As if it had gotten smaller since you had gotten home. You pushed the thought away, ignored his usual staring, and let go of his face before taking his hand in yours and disinfecting the cut on his palm as well. Your eyes grew wide. After you had treated it the skin slowly merged together, until there was no trace left of the minor injury. You rubbed your thumb over the smooth, pale skin, and glanced up. 

“How?” 

For once he did not smirk, did not grin – he smiled. “Magic.” 

Of course. Like turning into a cat, and switching your clothing with the flick of a wrist. You were almost jealous. No, scratch that – you _were_ jealous. How easy life must be when you had all kinds of magic at your disposal. You glanced away and let go of his hand before it would become awkward, not acknowledging how his smile had made him seem even more handsome, and stood to put the kit back in its rightful place. When you returned to the living room you stopped in the doorway and leaned against the frame. 

“So... You're not human, then?” 

He chuckled. “It baffles me that you haven't heard about me at all; but no. I'm not from Midgard.” 

You frowned. Midgard... Midgard.. Well, from the context you guessed it was the name for Earth wherever he came from. “What are you, then? If it's not too rude to ask, of course.” 

He... He hesitated, and averted his eyes. Did he not know? Had you accidentally hit a soft spot? He stared at the hand you had treated and flexed his fingers; and when he glanced up something had hardened in his gaze. 

“I come from a different world, called Jotunheim. It's cold, ugly, and barren, ice and rock as far as the eye can see; and it's people are exactly the same – Frost Giants, they're called.” 

There was hate in his eyes, and it was your turn to hesitate for a moment. Should you try and lift the mood a bit? Who knew what this man was capable of when he was angry – especially if he was one of those alleged giants. England was cold and barren enough already, no need for some guy to come and bring eternal winter or something. You pushed a smile on your face. 

“You don't exactly look like a cold and ugly snowman – though you are rather tall, I suppose.” 

He laughed, loudly and genuinely, and the sound was like magic on its own; dripping down your spine like liquid velvet. Then, slowly, his skin turned blue, his eyes red, and he grew a few inches taller as the sofa gave a dangerous creak beneath him.

“How about now?” 

You studied him, but... there was no fear stirring in your stomach. Why weren't you afraid? If anything, you were _fascinated_ – but you merely shrugged. “A bit more 'giant', and I guess blue is a rather cold colour, but it's not without its own beauty.” Your cheeks flushed as you realised what you had just said, and you quickly lifted your hands. “I mean, you're not fit for a horror film or anything. I've seen a lot worse in those; I bet they wouldn't even hire you for a thriller.”

Slowly he turned back to fair, pale skin and gemstone eyes, something like disbelief or confusion swirling in them, but he quickly hid it behind a smirk and stood. “What a strange creature you are.” He stepped closer, and you pushed yourself off the door frame to stand upright. “Calling a monster handsome, not even a frightened gasp at its physique.” 

Another few strides and your back hit the wall – you had been walking backwards without knowing it, gaze fixed on his as your abdomen stirred both in fear and something you didn't dare acknowledge. He placed his hands beside your head, his chest inches from yours, and your could feel his breathy laugh run down your face. 

“I would have thought you fearless, but I can see now that that is not the case. Have you changed your mind? Would I fit in a horror scenario yet?” 

But what you felt wasn't at all close to horror – no, you only felt horror at realising how you were turned on by this. By him. By the criminal in your house who wasn't even human. Another laugh rolling down your face and neck as he leaned over and placed his lips next to your ear. 

“I heard your scream last night. Did you dream of me? The horrible things I could do to you? The ways I could make you suffer?” 

You were pretty sure that dream wouldn't return. Oh no, not at all. It would be replaced with something far more terrifying. Far more _satisfying_ \- 

“Step. Back.” You tried to keep your heart under control, and you felt pride at how your voice didn't break nor waver. “Step. _Back_.” 

You were surprised he followed your command, but you didn't show it. You showed nothing but feigned rage and confidence. 

“This is my home and you should be bloody grateful for my hospitality instead of trying to scare me with threats and physical intimidation. I've been polite, I've been kind, I haven't told anyone that you are staying here, so the least you could do is show me some respect!”

Oh no. Ohhh no. This is exactly the thing you shouldn't do when there was a tall alien inside your house threatening to torture you. Yep, you were done for. This was it. Goodbye cruel world. At least you wouldn't have to go to work tomorrow.

But he didn't kill you. He leaned against the wall opposite of you, only a few feet away, an amused smirk on his face and a chuckle escaping his lungs. “I must admit you have served me well so far – beyond expectation. I suppose a small taste of the reward is in place.” 

Your stomach twisted, but luckily the feeling subdued when he held up his hand and a necklace appeared in his palm. A small, elegant emerald on a golden chain. If it was real...  
You cautiously took it from him and inspected it. Yes, it was real. You had no idea how much it was worth but judging by the fine craftsmanship alone you guessed it was at the very least a hundred pounds. You could sell it and save part of the money, using the rest for bills and groceries. 

“Put it on.” 

You glanced up, confused; but his gaze left no room for debate. No selling it, then. You unclasped it and moved your hands to the back of your neck, where it snapped in place again. It was so light you barely felt it, so delicate that your skin had difficulty registering it. You moved your gaze back to his, still slightly unsure what to say – which only worsened when you saw his glance. It was dark, yet... tender? Or kind? You didn't like how it made your abdomen stir pleasurably. 

 

That evening the two of you ate dinner in silence again, as if your sexual fantasy of being pinned against a wall hadn't just happened and as if he hadn't given you one of the finest pieces of jewelry you had ever seen. Afterwards, still without a word, he joined you in the kitchen to dry off the dishes you had cleaned, and when the time came to go to bed you hesitated. He already lay draped over the couch, a book in hand, but anyone with the ability to see understood that it was far from comfortable. 

You sighed. Were you really doing this?  
Yeah. Yeah, you were. 

“I have a solution for the lack of beds.” 

He elegantly pushed himself upright again, book forgotten in his lap. The gaze he fixed on you was dark, much like his smirk. “Are you suggesting to share yours?” 

“Not in the way you're thinking about.” His gaze only intensified, darkened, thin lips curling at the edges, but you sighed and dragged a hand across your face to keep your body from responding to it. “You may sleep at the foot end of my bed – as a cat.” He pulled up an eyebrow, obviously surprised, and it was your turn to smirk. “You use less space like that; and I don't think my bed could handle a 'giant'.” 

He stood, stalking closer. “Are you sure you don't want to find out?” 

You just rolled your eyes. “Very sure.” Nope, not sure at all – you definitely wanted to find out. You were _definitely_ inviting him into your bedroom with the hope for escalation. 

But you just pushed the thoughts away and made your way up the stairs, paying no attention to the man following behind you. You showed him your room before grabbing your pyjamas and locking yourself in the bathroom, where you emptied your bladder, changed, brushed your teeth, and combed your hair. And combed some more. And some more. It was getting static now.  
You were stalling, mostly because some part of you was hoping to find him splayed out on your sheets, naked- _don't_ think about that. He was a criminal. Mister Murder. Inhuman. A Frost Giant from Jotunheim – wherever the fuck that maybe. You took in a shaking breath and returned to your room. 

He lay there, as himself – wearing only his pants. Your breath hitched. The soft dipping of his pale skin hinted at the muscles beneath and you couldn't take your eyes off of him. He lay his book to the side and shot you a grin, but you spoke before he could. 

“Cat. Now.” 

“Oh but I'm far from tired-” 

“ _Now._ ”

Within the blink of an eye the black cat lay curled up at the foot end of the bed, his book on the nightstand, and you had the idea he was still grinning. You rolled your eyes and crawled underneath the sheets, mentally praying to the Gods that you wouldn't dream tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

The universe had heard your prayers. You hadn't dreamt a single thing that night, and when you awoke and hit the alarm clock, Loki was still in cat form curled up against the low footboard. You let out a soundless sigh of relief. The pitch-black cat stretched, claws exposed, before retracting back into a casual sitting position and glancing your way. Then he was human – or at least human-looking – with one leg over the edge of the bed and one tucked underneath his knee; still only wearing his pants. You averted your eyes and groaned. 

“Good morning, Loki.” 

“Good morning.” 

You dragged yourself from bed, locked yourself in the bathroom to change, made the two of you some breakfast with whatever scraps you could find, and grabbed your stuff before heading to work. 

In the afternoon you went to the pawnshop and had the necklace valued – your eyes growing wide and mouth falling slightly open when the guy behind the counter started adding hundreds and hundreds of pounds as he glanced through some kind of microscope. The final sum ended in the three thousand, and your hands were shaking when you took it back. And Loki had mentioned that this was only a 'small taste' of the final reward.  
You hated yourself from clinging to money and materialistic things, but they paid the bills; and if all you needed to do was to feed some kind of handsome murderer then your morals were pretty much of out of the window. If you got more of these necklaces you could start saving for a proper house, with a proper bed, a proper washing machine that didn't threaten to explode every time you turned it on, and a proper microwave that didn't irradiate the entire neighbourhood.  
You could move to a safe street where houses weren't regularly broken into – though every thief understood there was little to get in that squashed place of yours – and you could buy a car and search for a job you actually enjoyed even though it might be kilometres away. You could finally start living. 

 

But your gratefulness regarding Loki's little gift was gone after the visit to the grocer's, where you bought a shit-load of food – so much you could barely carry all the bags yourself – and after which you struggled your entire way home.  
As soon as you had dumped it all on the kitchen counter you held your hand underneath a stream of cool water to relieve some of the burning. That guy was such a pain in the arse in so many ways. You managed, with great strain on your spatial insight, to fit everything in the fridge and the cabinets next to it. The bowl with fruit was overflowing, and normally you wouldn't allow yourself to get this much, but the universe be damned if you didn't like the sight of it. You sighed. Greed and gluttony, another two flaws to add to the list. 

You moved to the living room and heaved the blanket, the one you had given Loki the first night, under your arms before making your way upstairs. He wasn't in the bedroom, however. A frown crept onto your face as you absently shoved the heap of cloth underneath the bed. Maybe he was still wherever he had gone yesterday. There would probably be some new cuts, so you should pay the drugstore a visit tomorrow, and you were beginning to run out of alcohol as well now you thought about it – consumable alcohol, that was. And bloody hell did you need a drink right now. But first a shower, because you were sure the man would drop dead from your odour alone when he returned – and now that he was a source of income, you didn't want him gone any longer. 

You opened the door – and froze, eyes fixed on the naked man in your tiny bathtub. Thank the Gods for the bubbles hiding everything below his abdomen. He only grinned, cupping a bit of water in his hand and casually letting it cascade down his toned chest. 

“There's still room for you, if you wish to join?” 

There definitely wasn't room for that. You forcefully pulled yourself from the shock and slammed the door shut, resting your back against it as you tried to calm your racing heart. The way his dark hair had clung to his face, the mischievous look in his eyes, the water smoothing over his muscles- you pushed your thighs together and let out a long, slightly trembling breath. You could hear him snicker on the other side of the wood. 

 

You waited in the living room for him to be done, lost in a book and a cup of tea half forgotten on the knee-high table, and when he finally came downstairs – with only a towel wrapped around his hips – you quickly bolted to the next level before your face could gain more colour. You turned on the light, locked the door, _tightly_ , and made sure the windows were shut and covered before running the tiny shower, undressing, and getting in. 

Needless to say, it wasn't a very relaxing shower. 

But he didn't come in, which was some kind of relief – though the thought made your insides twist in all the right ways – but as soon as you stepped out you noticed something was wrong. You couldn't immediately place it, but as you wrapped your towel around your body you figured it out: your clothes were gone. Breathe in, breathe out. Maybe he had just used his powers to throw them in the washing machine, unable to stand the smell of your sweat any longer. 

While tightly holding the long, fuzzy towel in place you cautiously unlocked the door and opened it only a tiny bit, so you could poke your head out and glance around. He didn't seem to lurk close by. You prayed he was still downstairs when you stepped out of the bathroom and tip-toed over to the bedroom – but your prayers had not been heard. Loki lay on your bed, a book in one hand and a green apple in the other, the towel laid horizontally over his hips and upper thighs. As soon as you appeared in the doorway he cast a dark glance to the side, your way, and bit down on his apple; beautiful white teeth sinking in the succulent flesh.  
Your mind and stomach were absolutely going insane. 

But you weren't going to show it. You squinted your eyes in a disinterested and irritated expression, lifted your chin, and paraded over to your closet, from which you ripped your pyjama shirt and shorts and a freshly washed pair of undies. You shot him another hateful glare when you retreated, barking 'Put on some bloody clothes!' while keeping sure the towel kept everything covered, and once more locked the bathroom to change into your night gear. You hoped he hadn't seen how your knees had wobbled slightly, or how your fingers had gripped the soft fabric with more force than necessary. 

When you returned he had already turned into a cat, curled up and front paws stretched outward. It must be comfortable, being able to lie like that; flexible and soft. Cats could find the strangest places and still look like they were more content than a child on their parent's waterbed. You were jealous of that ability, too, but tried not to think about it as you slipped underneath the covers and forced yourself to fall asleep. 

 

You awoke the next morning in a starfish position, with a cat curled against your side and the sheets half off the bed. You closed your legs and hoped you hadn't kicked him or something. A snort escaped you at the thought and his ears perked up before he turned to look at you, still a bit sleepy. Without thinking you reached out and lovingly brushed your fingers over his head, a smile on your face, until he tensed a bit under your touch and you were shaken from your thoughts - that cat was still Loki, and you probably shouldn't be touching him like that. But when his eyes fluttered shut under your fingers you gave him another stroke. He relaxed, his paws stretching and his nails showing as he unfurled himself. You let your hand glide over his back a few times, until a soft but unmistakable sound reached your ears. 

He was purring. 

Your eyes grew wide and you let out a laugh, hand still gliding over his soft fur in gentle strokes. He stretched even further, eyes shut in bliss, and you shook your head. 

“So cute.” 

His gaze met yours then and suddenly he was himself, lying on his back and only wearing his pants, head against your hip, arm along your upper leg, and his own legs dangling off the footboard. “Cute?” His grin was smug, his voice that silvery smooth honey like always. 

“As a _cat_ ,” you clarified, trying to hide how his touch set your skin on fire. “Actually, I think you'd make a great pet. Maybe you should stay that way all the time.” 

“Oh, but then I wouldn't be able to see all your lovely reactions.” And, as if to emphasize, he turned his face until his lips brushed over the strip of exposed skin above the hem of your shorts and brushed his hand up the side of your calves, all while keeping his dark gaze locked onto yours. 

Your face was red in an instant, but there was an easy way out: you shot up and pushed him off the edge of the bed, satisfied with the loud 'thunk' he made on the floor. One of the advantages of having a narrow bed, you thought with a triumphant grin – yet your insides were still twisting and turning and trying to rip itself apart. 

“That's what you get, arsehole,” you snarled his way, ignoring his snickering, and quickly fled into the bathroom with a set of clothes to change into. Any attempt to stay polite any longer was out the fucking window. 

 

A few days passed, not one without Loki's teasing, but the moments between it were actually rather peaceful. It became some sort of rhythm. Waking, eating breakfast together, work, patching him up – it became obvious that he left during the day and returned with minor injuries without exception - dinner, reading in silence, and getting ready for bed. Two weeks passed like that. Two weeks of trying to control how you were growing more and more attracted to the man occupying your house against your will. You made sure you spent the weekends at Lisa's place or with your laptop and a book in the café a few streets away.

Was this Stockholm-syndrome? He hadn't hurt you in any way, nor were you really a hostage as you could leave whenever you pleased, but surely this was not normal. Normal people didn't want to fuck criminals, right? No matter how excruciatingly handsome or attractive they were, right? 

But you could control yourself. You stayed as kind and warm as you could manage, even though you had started acting a bit looser around him after calling him an arse. He even made you laugh quite a few times, and you made him laugh in turn. It was strange, but you were beginning to look forward to your shared dinners and breakfasts, to the conversations the two of you had and to the reading in amiable silence. 

Wanting to fuck a criminal was one thing, but slowly starting to become friends with one was a whole other kind of messed up. 

But you weren't afraid of him in the way you should be. You hadn't had nightmares again, and the only thing you now feared was that his seductive teasing would make you snap one day and make you jump him right then and there – and that was wrong in so, _so_ many ways. 

You pushed the thought away and glanced over the top of your novella, to the man on the other side of the couch who was fully engorged in a book he had teleported from who knew where. It was nice, sitting like this, the sound of the rain against the window and the smell of tea and cupcakes in the air. You had made them after dinner, as some kind of desert, and though Loki's appetite had diminished to a more healthy level he had devoured at least seven of them. The red was gone from around his eyes as well, and he looked healthy. 

The part of you that wanted to be friends with him was relieved, glad you could have helped him out, but the part that still resisted his moving-in hated you for patching him up. You should have kept him weak, kept him hungry, so that it would be easier to escape if he tried something, but you wondered if that would even be possible – he could teleport books right into his hands, so who said he couldn't do the same with food? And besides, wouldn't doing that only put you in more danger? You hadn't seen him cranky or irritated yet, but you were sure lack of proper nourishment and sleep would get him there. 

Yet... Somehow you doubted that he would even try to hurt you at all. It had been two weeks, and yes, you had kept 'serving' him (though that only included allowing him to sleep on your bed as a cat and making him meals every morning and evening), but even if you decided to stop cooking dinner for a whole week you suspected he wouldn't even bat an eye at your decision. He was so strange, so unpredictable, and still... Still, you began to doubt more and more that he was a bad person. 

When he glanced up and met your gaze, his emerald eyes stood soft. Kind. How could those eyes belong to a criminal? 

“Is there anything you need?” 

You were shaken from your thoughts, but the question still lingered. “Hm... Not really. Well- I wouldn't mind it if you paid for last week's expenses; I don't make enough money to keep this up.” There was no bite to your words, just an amiable lightness. Like conversing with an old friend. Or a spouse. You quickly pushed that thought away. 

His eyes slid to your throat, to the necklace still around it. You had worn it every day – for safekeeping, you had told yourself; nothing else.

“You could sell the necklace.” 

But there was something to his voice that made you think he didn't want you to do that. It had been a gift after all, you supposed, and selling a gift right in front of the one that gave it to you was more than simply rude. And you had to admit, you liked it. It was simple, elegant, not obnoxious like most pieces of jewelry nowadays, and it kind of fit you – apart from the elegant bit, maybe. You were far from it. The gemstone was beautiful, and the necklace was light enough for you to forget about it completely until you spotted it in a reflection. 

“I think I like it too much,” you answered in all honesty; and somehow he seemed a bit relieved. 

“Then I will make sure your bank account will stay replenished.” 

You frowned a bit. Stay replenished? As in for as long as he was here? You could almost hear your ancestors hiss at your doubt to turn the offer down. It was not-done to accept such a large sum of money, but you shooed the thought of them away and nodded. 

“Thank you.” 

You needed that money, damn it. To get out of here, to build an actual life sometime. And if Loki was prepared to pay for it, then he could stay for as long as he like, the police be damned.


	4. Chapter 4

Another week had passed. The two of you sat in the living room, you hanging over the square pouf without any sense of shame and Loki occupying the entire couch in at-home comfort, both with a book in your hands and minds lost in imaginary worlds. It was then that the doorbell rang. 

You shot up and glanced at the raven-haired man, who gave you a questioning look in turn, but you lifted your hands and your eyebrows - you had no idea who would come visit at this hour, or why. You knew he didn't even think about it being the cops; you would have called them much sooner and your actions would have given you away, but you yourself feared it might still be them. Maybe they had finally managed to track him down? Your heart clenched tight.

“Cat form,” you whispered, and within a second you were the only human in the building. You hurried through the hallway, before undoing the locks and opening up. 

“I know you don't celebrate it, but I couldn't help myself.” Lisa. Her grin was wide as she carried two boxes with her, one obviously containing cake and the other one gift-wrapped in the most eye-damaging pink ever. It even sparkled.

A bit dazed you stepped aside, letting her in. Relief washed over you, but Lisa was a true gossiper, and you cast a nervous glance over your shoulder as you closed the door and followed her to the living room. 

“Since when do you have a cat?” She tried to lure the creature from its spot but it merely glanced haughtily at her, and you tried to keep back the snort. Instead, you moved to the kitchen to turn on the kettle, preparing the mugs – setting one back when you realised you had grabbed three of them - and teabags on the counter. 

“Just a couple of weeks, actually. Found him as a stray.” 

She gave up and moved to sit on the pouf. “What's his name?” 

“Uh, Loki.” You waited for the water to boil and poured it into the mugs, before carefully carrying them to the table. She took it from you with a frown.

“Like the guy from Asgard? Who destroyed New York and killed about eighty people?” 

You froze. You tried to keep your eyes from growing wide and glanced at the cat, but it didn't meet your gaze. You moved to sit down on the couch, making sure not to squash its tail. “No - no like that other Loki. The one from those series on tv? He wasn't a major character, so I don't suppose he would have left much of an impression.” 

She thought for a moment, easily buying your lie, and you tried to calm the part of you that was utterly freaking out. Destroyed New York. Killed eighty people. So he _was_ a murderer after all. You had started to deny it over the last few days. He had been rather sweet, sometimes cooking dinner so that you could rest and always helping you with the dishes - you had even caught him watering the plants once, for fucks sake! The edges to his gaze had softened and he had smiled and laughed as much as grinned and teased. He had told you a couple of things about himself during a few of your conversations; about how he loved reading and science and learning about different cultures and species, and when you had asked him to tell about the other worlds he had described them so vividly that no film could have done it justice. His silvery voice had taken you through the universe, had shown you the beauty and the horror of it all, and when he described the palace of Asgard you swore he put some kind of image inside your mind. Maybe he had been showing you his memories, of when he had travelled and studied those places and those people. You could have listened – watched - for hours. 

But now it all seemed to crumble under your fingers, that what could have become friendship. He had killed people. A lot of them.

Suddenly the cat stood, traversed the couch, and lay down on your lap. You froze again. What was he doing? He still didn't meet your gaze and instead lay his head on his elegant paws. 

“Oh, he's one of those kind of cats, isn't he?” 

You blinked, lifting your eyes to Lisa's as she took a careful sip. “What kind of cats?”

She gestured at him. “You know, those who only like one or two people and completely ignore others.”

You snorted, glancing back at the creature in your lap. “I don't think he likes anyone. He just tolerates some.” After a moment of hesitation you lay your hand on his back and softly petted the black fur. “Anyway; you really didn't have to do this. You know I don't celebrate my birthday.” 

“I know, I know,” she whined, but it didn't sound annoying. Nothing she ever did was annoying. “But like I said, I just couldn't help myself! I don't want you to be alone all the time, y'know? And besides, I'm your friend! It's my duty to bring a smile to your face!” She brushed a few strands of her black, chin-length hair behind her ear and grinned like a leopard. “Open it up!” 

You took the box from her, careful not to disturb the cat, and undid the hideous wrapping. First came a photo frame with a collage of selfies and pictures, both from when you were younger, your time at uni, and from more recent years. Then came a book – one you had been meaning to buy in a long time, together with a set of scented candles: vanilla and lavender. And she was right, a large, genuine smile did appear on your face. “Thanks, Lisa; you always know how to treat me.” 

“I count it as one of my many virtues.” She flipped her hair to emphasize her words, but then her expression fell a bit. “You sure you're not lonely? Have you talked to Iris yet? She's from a level below us in the building and she's very sweet, I'm sure the two of you will get along. And how has Jason been lately?” 

You groaned. “The usual.” 

“I know he's an arse but he only acts like it to get your attention, you know? Rumour has it he wants to ask you on a date soon.” 

“Ow!” You shot a glare at the cat and not-so-gently pried its nails from the flesh of your legs. You returned your attention to Lisa again, your gaze pleading. “You know I hate him. Can't you change his mind? I know for sure that he'll make a scene if I decline. Please, Lisa, I'm not really lonely. I mean, I've got a cat now, and he kinda counts as company?” You sucked in another breath as one nail pierced your jeans again, but it retracted before you could do anything about it yourself. 

“You know I'm always here for you, right? I'm sorry we haven't had many coffee dates lately, but-”

“No, no, it's okay! I understand. Work, girlfriend, parents. It's admirable that you find time to sleep between it all.” 

She chuckled, pulling on the hem of her blue turtleneck sweater, and the conversation took off on another couple of tangents. After about fifteen minutes the seemed to remember the cake and cut two slices, which the two of you devoured eagerly, and she stayed for another two hours just talking and gossiping about work.  
Lisa was a great woman. Almost always cheerful and energetic, except after a long day of sitting at the office. Sometimes the two of you would drag yourselves to the nearest coffee shop and drink way too much coffee as you whined about long hours and a shitty wage, other times you went to her place to binge-watch a show on Netflix. It was always fun with her around. 

And, after she stood, having convinced you to stay seated (as it was an unspoken rule never to disturb a pet laying in your lap), and let herself out, the silence suddenly became pressing. But you weren't really lonely – not anymore. Not since Loki had moved in. You glanced down at the cat, only to find the man's face looking up at you. His eyes stood... worried? 

“What,” you snapped a bit too loudly for your liking, and you let out a sigh as you lay a hand over your face. “Sorry.” 

Slowly, slender fingers wrapped around your wrist and pulled it down. “If anything bothers you, I will listen.” 

You snorted, but it wasn't really a happy snort. “Yeah, let's tell the guy who murdered eighty people about my weak points.” 

He winced a bit, and something akin to hurt crept into his eyes. “It wasn't me who did that. Thanos used the scepter they gave me to control me, after-” He fell silent for a second, reliving painful memories if you had to guess by his expression. “Will you listen and keep judgment at bay until I have finished telling you?” 

“Telling me what?” 

“Everything.” 

 

And he did. He told you how he had been abandoned as a baby and found by Odin, only to be raised in the shadow of his brother. He told how his adoptive father had never truly cared for him, how everyone but Frigga, his adoptive mother, saw him as evil and treacherous even though his mischief was of a harmless nature. He told you how his brother got the credit for every diplomatic solution Loki had come up with, had sometimes even executed, and how he had always been treated as a little more than royal garbage. How he found out about his true heritage, his Jotun blood, and, after telling you all the events that had happened, all the mistakes he had made, he told you how he had let go of the Rainbow Bridge in an attempt to finish his life.  
But what came next was even more soul-shattering. He told you of the Chitauri, of the torture; how they had used the knowledge of his Jotun blood to break him using unbearable heat, and how they had left him in isolation afterwards. He didn't know how long. He had been between time and space, between existence and complete nothingness, and it had destroyed him; his mental shield, his mind. Easy to take control of.  
And as they had forced him to do their bidding, he had had to watch how his body destroyed a city of one of the many cultures he had studied, had had to hear how his mouth betrayed him by speaking words that weren't his own – hurting others, his brother; who he cared for even after everything. There had been moments of clarity in which he had tried to warn them without breaking character too much so that Thanos wouldn't find out, but no one noticed it. The only positive thing, he told with a bitter tone to his voice, was that he had been able to convince the Chitauri that technology was the most dangerous thing about Midgardians, not the people themselves. It had prevented many more deaths. After an end had been brought to the Chitauri's plans, they had realised Loki was of use no longer, and let him go from their grasp. He had had just enough energy to teleport him somewhere else on the same planet – pathetic, he told you with a snarl more aimed at himself, compared to the usual range of his power – and transform himself into a cat so that he wouldn't be spotted. Still, he had needed a place to stay; and that was where you came into the picture. 

You didn't know when you had started to brush your fingers over his scalp and through his dark locks, or when you had started wiping the silent tears away with your free hand. He seemed to notice it now, too – both of it, and some kind of internal conflict was visible in his eyes. Your hand moving through his hair halted, retracted, as you started using it to quickly get rid of the salty evidence as well. 

He sat up and turned to take hold of your wrists, gingerly pulling them away from your itching cheeks. 

“Why are you crying?” 

He sounded so lost that the strange urge to laugh came bubbling up, but it didn't reach the surface. You just took a deep, deep breath, and released it. You were an adult, weeping over the story of a criminal. But he wasn't really a criminal, was he? Well, he had made mistakes, but he had always made sure no one or at least as few people as possible got hurt – except when the aliens had taken control of his brain. How could he still laugh and tease, after all that had happened to him? After his terrible youth and the torture and the loss of control over his body and his mind? He must have been terrified, enraged, confused, in pain – and yet he had conversed with you and had joked around with you like none of that had happened. You couldn't imagine the strength that it took. 

And now he sat here, forced to hide in a tiny house with a strange mortal, while his family thought he was a homicidal maniac. The only people he had ever cared about, his brother and, more importantly, his mother, were out of his reach. If he should return to them, the chances were small they would believe him – or even if they did, he still would have to be punished for his deeds; the deeds he hadn't even done himself. He had been alone and unwanted for the entirety of his life, and even now that he needed the comfort of a supporting parent or friend, he had no one to turn to. Your heart contracted with such sympathy and pity and second-hand pain that a soft sob escaped your lips. 

“Why wouldn't I cry? Bloody H-Hell, Loki-” A sniff, and while he kept a hold of your wrist you managed to wipe your nose with the back of your free hand. “Your life has been fucking miserable, and you tell me all this and expect to merrily go about my day?” He studied you, still with confusion in his eyes, and you sighed. “I just feel horrible for all the things that have happened to you, okay? It's called empathy. Or sympathy. I knew the difference once but now I'm not quite sure.” You mumbled it more than that you really said it out loud, but he heard you loud and clear, and snorted. 

He snorted. The second prince of Asgard snorted. 

But when you searched his eyes you found not only confusion and disbelief, but also a hint of amusement and, more prominently, relief. “I thought you might set me out onto the streets, not that you would cry over my less than pleasant past.” 

Less than pleasant was the biggest understatement of the century. 

“Well, no, firstly I wouldn't have been physically able to; and secondly I don't want to get punished for kicking a fucking intergalactic God out of my home. I did dream of you that first night, you know, when I woke up in the middle of the night.” _Screaming_ , you thought, but you didn't add it, as hurt and regret already crept into his gaze. “And I still am pretty afraid of the things you're capable of if I think too much about it. But how in the world do you expect me not to feel sorry for you after all that? It breaks my bloody heart; for fucks sake.” 

He chuckled, his gaze softening even further. “Such a foul mouth.” 

“Oh bugger off.” 

He finally let go of your wrist, and you wiped at your eyes as you sniffled a last time. “So... What now? Are you going to stay here until they find you? Will they find you here, anyway?” 

“I will stay until I've got enough of my power back to get me to another realm. There are too many cameras, too many ears around here.” 

You nodded. You had refrained from Googling anything about him when he had told you his name, because you knew that S.H.I.E.L.D or the CIA would keep an eye out for anything that could have to do with him. They would no doubt check for things like that, and then go check out the address to see if he was hiding there. Even if you went to an internet café they would track it down and possibly use the cameras in and around the building to capture your face and figure out where you lived. A shiver ran down your spine. The American government was terrifying. 

“How long would that take?” You weren't going to show him that you didn't want him to go, because you really didn't, but asking a question like this wouldn't betray you, right? 

Wrong. 

“Hm? Eager for me to stay?” His smirk was back, and a part of you was relieved that the pain had fully left the emerald green. Back to teasing, back to playing games. Maybe it was for the best.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Don't flatter yourself. I would just like to know for how long you're going to keep shedding hairs on my bedsheets.” 

He laughed loudly and genuinely, and reclined against the backrest without taking his eyes off of you. “Are you aware that there is a simple solution to that?” 

There was. The bed might only just be large enough for the both of you, but it would grant the washing machine some peace and therefore possibly increase your lifespan – you were certain that thing was going to take down the neighbourhood someday. And, of course, you wouldn't mind him in your bed like that. 

You sighed, trying to sound irritated and defeated, as if you had taken pity on him after his story; which you had, of course, so the part was easy to play, but it wasn't the main thing in reaching your decision. “All right then.” 

He lifted his eyebrows in surprise, smirk growing. “So easily convinced – or is it exactly what you wanted?” His voice darkened, sending your insides tumbling in all the right ways. It was a tease, and he didn't even realise the truth behind his words, which you were grateful for. 

“If it was 'exactly what I wanted' I would have allowed it from day one.” You turned to the table, cut a slice of the cake, pushed it onto your plate, and handed it to Loki. “Now shut up and eat cake.”


	5. Chapter 5

After the two of you had finished washing the dishes with immaculate teamwork - you washing them, he drying them off, and you putting the clean and dry ones in the right cabinets – the two of you went upstairs to get ready for bed. Another rhythm in which you somehow found comfort: getting your pj's, locking yourself in the bathroom, changing, brushing your teeth, and returning to the bedroom. This time, however, it wasn't a cat waiting for you with bright emerald eyes, but a bare-chested man, hands under the back of his head and ankles crossed. You hoped the heat you felt on your face could not be seen. 

You let out a loud, long, almost melodramatic sigh, and crawled underneath the covers. Loki followed, and not a second later two arms slid around your waist and pulled you against cool skin. You froze, your breath hitching and your heart skipping multiple beats. Your shirt had crept up a bit and the contact between your lower back and his abdomen was direct, sending goosebumps over your arms and neck and causing heat to pool where you didn't want it. His legs entangled with yours, and he buried his face in your neck. 

“L-Loki what the _fuck_ do you think you're doing-” 

“Making sure neither of us falls off the bed,” he purred against your skin, lips nearly touching your shoulder, and the butterflies inside your stomach went absolutely vicious.

“It is large enough for the both of us.” The words came out strained, through clenched teeth, as you tried to keep a whimper from escaping. You hoped it sounded like you were irritated. 

He chuckled. “Liar.” 

You knew that he was right; your bed was far from wide enough for two to comfortably fit next to each other, and this might be the only thing that kept him from falling off, but the close contact –  
You regretted your decision. A bit. A tiny bit. Okay you didn't really regret it at all, but if you admitted that, how would you be able to deal with it? Still, how could you deny that you loved the pressure of his chest against your back, the safety of his arms keeping you close, the gentle intimacy of your legs intertwined? Once you pushed aside how it aroused you, you could almost imagine... You could almost imagine being cared for. Being loved. 

Your heart fluttered. You hadn't felt like that in a long, long time, and it was almost shocking, no, _terrifying_ to realise how much you longed for it. But the feeling calmed the unsteady beating, calmed the hurricanes in your head, calmed the tingling of your skin, and slowly shushed you to sleep; filling your night with gentle dreams. 

 

That all shattered, of course, when you awoke the next morning with your shirt having crawled up even further – his bare chest cool against your back – and his hand resting just beneath your boob. 

You turned around and slapped his face. 

As his laugh boomed though the house you fled to the bathroom with your sore hand cradled against your chest and got dressed, threw your nightwear into the washing machine, ignored Loki and his teasing for the entire duration of breakfast, and slammed the front door shut a bit too loudly when you left for work. 

Needless to say, you couldn't concentrate very well. This earned you some delightful reprimands from your boss, a personal attack from Jason, and an overall miserable day as your mind wandered off and left your body to do clumsy things such as dropping your coffee all over your paperwork and shoving the lamp from your desk, causing it to splinter into a million sharp pieces on the cold tile floor. You had to work overtime to get everything done. 

On your way home you stalled for time as you tried to figure out what to do. He was flirting with you, no doubt, or seducing you, or whatever. And if you wanted, it could very well end up like you had started to crave only a day or so after his arrival. But he was a prince from Asgard, a Frost Giant, a man wanted for murder (even though you now knew it hadn't been him at all), and a man whose fate was very likely to end up in some kind of torture dungeon or maybe even in death. You, as a person, had difficulty separating sex from love-driven intimacy – you had had a few one-night stands, and they had left you heartbroken and alone – so getting it on with Loki would most definitely make you fall in love with him; though you wondered how far you had already walked down that road. You wouldn't mind being more than friends, you realised – no, you wouldn't mind at all. But it was very much possible he would prefer the 'friends with benefits' type of relationship. You didn't know Asgardian customs that way. But you simply couldn't do that; one night together and you would be willing to fling yourself into a romantic relationship - and it would break your heart when he declined. 

You smashed into a street lantern. 

Your hand came up to pinch and hide your bleeding nose and you glanced around to see if anyone had witnessed it, but luck was on your side this time, and you hastily continued on your way as a few soft curses slipped past your lips. A foul mouth indeed.  
Once you got home you had swallowed about a litre of your own blood, but at least the bleeding had stopped. Still, you didn't dare take your fingers from their position and continued to open the door with one hand. 

The living room was empty. A plate covered in silver foil caught your eye, and one peek underneath brought a smile to your face. Loki had made dinner. You regretted that you hadn't been able to dine with him, but one glance at the clock told you it was half past nine, and a groan left your throat – your entire day, gone, only because of his little stunt this morning and your inability to cope with it. 

You checked your nose in a mirror – not broken, but definitely starting to bruise – and wiped the last bit of crusted blood from your upper lip before letting go and staring at your reflection for a while. It didn't start bleeding again. You warmed up the food in your shitty microwave, devoured it like a wolf, and set the plate in the sink for tomorrow morning before turning to make your way to the second floor. 

But you stopped halfway through the living room, and hesitated. 

If you went upstairs, you would change and he would wrap his arms around you again. The bed-sharing, the intimacy; it would make you fall in love with him. You didn't want to fall in love again simply because someone was being kind to you, or because they gave you their undivided attention for a while; you had walked that path in school and even during university, and you had sworn never to walk it again. You wanted to fall in love with them because of who they were. Were you really falling in love with him for who he was? Not just because he was incredibly good-looking? You didn't know. Maybe you were falling in love with him because you craved to be loved; and that certainly wasn't a good base for any kind of relationship. You shouldn't be dependent on anyone, you should stay your own person, even in a relationship – _especially_ in a relationship. 

But you had no other option than to go upstairs, because the prospect of ruining your back by sleeping on the couch after such a long day of work wasn't appealing in the slightest. 

 

A quick glance into the bedroom told you that Loki was still awake and, as expected, reading a book, so you moved to your closet to get your nightgown. You dug through the not-so-organised piles and through the clothes hanging on and over the built-in rack, and searched again. And again. And again and again and again. 

It wasn't there. 

Your eyes grew wide with horror and you glanced at the man on your bed, who kept reading his book like he didn't even notice your distress. And maybe he didn't – but it wouldn't take him long. So you searched again, trying to refrain from doing it frantically, but nowhere was the simple garment to be found. Your other pj's were in the washing machine, and a moment of silence told you that the stupid thing was still trying to do its job. Shit. Shit shit _shit_. You glanced around the room, but it was nowhere to be seen, and you began to suspect foul play – but you weren't ready to give up so quickly. You searched the bathroom, the tiny study, and even the clothes hanging out to dry on the balcony, but it was hopeless. You returned to the bedroom.

“Loki, have you seen my nightgown?” 

For a split second his thin lips curled up in a smirk, but when he lowered his book his face was all innocence. “The black one?” 

“Yes, the black one.” You only had one, and it was black, so yeah; the black one. 

“Not since a week ago.” 

When you had last worn it before throwing it into the same machine that was now quietly rumbling. You knew you had taken it out and hung it out to dry as you had switched to your simple top and shorts, and you knew for sure you had folded it and put it in the closet. There was no other option than that the bastard had made it disappear like he had done with his armour that first day, and your dirty clothes a week ago. 

“I want it back, please.” 

“I don't have it.” He had difficulty keeping his smile from reappearing. 

You jumped onto the bed, sending him a few inches into the air and causing his book to smack against his face. Good. Revenge was sweet. 

You poked his side. “Now, please.” 

“As I said, I don't have it.” But his grin was massive. 

“Then can you get it _back_ , please?” 

“But what will I get in turn?” His eyes were dark, his voice smooth like honey, and your insides twisted. 

You could play along. You could flirt back like you wanted to, strip right here to your underwear without breaking eye contact and slip beneath the sheets; or maybe you could straddle his hips and threaten him with the seductive-sounding prospect of 'punishment', but you got the idea that he was like a coiled up snake ready to strike. And you knew how you would end up: heartbroken. But maybe, for as long as he was here... There was nothing wrong with taking care of your needs, right? And you would learn to deal with the pain like you had done before. 

But before you had made your decision his expression faltered, and fell. “What happed to your nose?” 

Your hand reached up to touch the tender skin. “I uh, I bumped into a stranger and smacked into a lantern post.” Not fully the truth, but not a lie either, and he seemed to believe you as he beckoned you to bend closer with a single movement of his hand. 

After a moment of hesitation you did as he asked, and he sat up, fingers softly touching the bruise. You flinched. Then, the pain started to flow away, leaving a gentle tingling that wasn't unpleasant, and the soreness of the skin disappeared completely. When you crossed your eyes you noticed the bruise was gone, too, and he retracted his fingers. 

You met his gaze, an incredulous look in your eyes, and huffed out a laugh as your own fingers reached up to touch your nose. “I hope you know I'm rather jealous; my life would be so much easier with magic.” 

He smirked. “This is nothing yet.” 

“Show me.” A bit of confusion crept into his eyes, so you pointedly glanced at his hand and met his gaze again. “Show me all the things you can do – all the harmless things, of course.” But your body betrayed you, and you quickly hid your yawn behind closed fingers. 

He chuckled. “Tomorrow.” 

“But I'm not tired-”

“Liar.” He gave you a gentle push towards the edge of the bed and only chuckled again when you let out another sleepy yawn in the middle of another protest. You had no option but to give up. 

So you stood, and glanced at the contents of your closet without really registering it. About thirty seconds passed, before Loki cleared his throat and you were pulled back to reality. You picked a large shirt that would hopefully reach further than your hips, but at this point you were quite beyond caring. You pulled your shirt over your head and threw it into the laundry basket, unbuttoned your pants and let them drop to your feet, and reached back for the clasp of your bra – before realising that you had company. You threw a glance over your shoulder and the dark, hungry gaze that met yours set your insides ablaze, so you quickly turned to the closet again to hide your blush and slipped the clean shirt over your head, a bit disappointed to see that it only just covered your knickers – and only if you kept your arms down and your back straight. Still, sleeping with a bra on was hell, and so you reached underneath the fabric, a 'click' announcing your victory, and you tugged the straps down your arms before pushing them back through the armholes and letting the expensive piece of underwear fall to the ground with a soft thud. 

You could feel his eyes burning on your back. 

You didn't dare meet his gaze as you moved to the bed and crawled beneath the sheets, holding your breath when he followed and slipped his arms around you, pulling you close again – yet you couldn't help the gasp when you felt it. When you felt his hard member press against your bum. 

All sleep was instantly gone from your system and you were _burning_ , both inside and outside. This was no longer teasing – this was evidence; evidence that he truly was attracted to you. 

That he wanted you like you wanted him.


	6. Chapter 6

He buried his face in your hair, breathing in your scent, and you knew he could feel you shiver in response, your heart picking up the speed even more. This was so wrong, so wrong so wrong so _right_ -

His lips found your skin, and brushed over it. You could feel him twitch against your rear. What should you do? You wanted this, you wanted this very, very badly, and apparently so did he, but he was royalty from another realm– 

You shivered again as his lips moved higher, to just below your ear. No, no you had to stop this, before it was too late. Slowly, you managed to turn around, onto your other side, until you could look him in his eyes. The darkness of them sent heat surging to between your legs, but his gaze softened when he noticed the panic in yours. 

“Loki, I can't-” You swallowed, averting your eyes for a moment to gather your courage. Breathe in, breathe out. You met his gaze again. “If we do this I'll- I- I-” Great going there, stuttering like a complete and utter moron. You closed your eyes and forced the words from your lungs in a single breath. 

“If we do this, I'll fall in love with you.” 

Slowly, you dared to pry open your eyes, only to see how his widened. Was it shock? Disbelief? Fear? A painful sting crossed your heart. He didn't want this after all then, not if there were strings attached, and you didn't blame him-

His lips found yours in a wild, _ravenous_ kiss, and he swallowed your whimper as you shut your eyes and pressed yourself against him in response. Your leg moved over his thigh, allowing him to grind his hips against you and his clothed erection to press firmly against your core. A moan escaped your throat and he took his chance to run his tongue across your lower lip and slip it inside your mouth, exploring, caressing. His hand slid up your thigh and under the shirt, over your hip, over the side of your ribcage, and, as you lifted your hand to brush your fingers into his dark locks, it moved to cup your breast. Your insides were twisting and turning and boiling and melting and your head was troubled with delirious want as his taste flooded you, his smell enveloped you, his fingers finding your nipple and adding sensation after sensation to your overwhelmed heart. 

He broke the kiss, and the both of you needed to take some distance to breathe – yet not too far, or one of you might just fall off the edge of the bed and end up on the carpeted floor. 

His emerald eyes stood so dark, his pupils dilated further than you had thought possible, and there was a vulnerability to it that made your heart glow and brighten. It was affection, fondness, _love_ in his eyes. You knew he saw it in yours too. In a flash of rustling sheets and pale skin he was suddenly hovering above you, keeping himself supported on his lower arms as his abdomen lay on yours, and the urge to take off any fabric still between you rose so strongly that your hands found the hem of your shirt and quickly lifted them over your head. His mouth was already on your throat before you had properly thrown the garment to the side and another gasp left your lungs when his tongue trailed down to one of your breasts, his lips enclosing around the nipple. It was nearly enough to send you over the edge: how he sucked on the sensitive flesh, his cock pressing against your soaked panties, his one hand moving down to lift your hip and press you harder against him- 

Then his fingers slipped underneath the lace and between your slick folds. Your back arched at the stimulation and he growled, his mouth finding yours again as he worked slow circles around your clit. You were shaking, shuddering with lust, whimper after whimper filling the air when he softly bit down on your neck and left his mark, one finger slipping inside of you and then the next, your entrance showing nearly no resistance, and when he curled them to find that delicious spot inside you let out a cry. 

“L-Loki-” 

His growl rumbled through the room as he bit down on your shoulder again, harder this time, and you cried out once more; your fingers forming tight fists in his raven hair. His tongue moved to soothe the sting before trailing down, further, further, dipping into your belly button and continuing south-

He sat back on his knees and lifted your hips pull the last bit of clothing off your body, exposing you to him completely. The way he looked at that part of you and licked his lips, then scanned the rest of your naked body; it left you aching. He met your eyes and held your gaze as he lay your legs over his shoulders, lifted your hips again, and bent down to kiss you - _there_.   
Your head fell back with a moan and your fingers found the headboard to keep you anchored as he began lapping at you, eyes once again meeting yours when you found the strength to tilt your head forward again. His gaze was so intense, so dark, and he kept licking and kissing and sucking and the moans and whimpers kept coming-

Until you felt everything coil up tighter and tighter and then shatter into a thousand pieces as you came against his lips, his name sounding through the air as you moaned it. 

He kept a hold of your legs for a moment, placing tender kisses on the soft inside of your thigh, before slowly and carefully lowering your hips back onto the mattress. The look he gave you was so warm, so full of affection, with a little, genuine smile on his face and a sparkle in his eyes, that you moved to sit up, wrapped your arms around his neck, and kissed him again. Not hungrily this time but sweet, slow, relishing the taste of both of you and the softness of his lips. His hands settled on your back and held you close in a semi-embrace, fingers splayed out as if to touch as much as possible. 

When you broke apart he rested his forehead against yours. This... How was this reality? Your heart felt as if it had grown twice in size, and the things you craved – the love, the affection – was that really something he wanted as well? 

The corner of his lips tugged upward a bit, eyes half lidded as he met yours. “Have you fallen for me yet?” 

Yes. And not just a tiny bit, either. 

“Hmm, I think you need to try a bit harder.” You pressed your lips together in a straight line to keep from grinning. The chuckle he gave in response made you want to kiss him again – if it hadn't been for the evil glint shimmering in the darkened emerald. 

You let out a yelp when you were suddenly lowered onto your back again, and gasped when his mouth found your neck once more. 

“How much harder?” 

You bit your lower lip as his hand smoothened over your side. “Quite a bit.” 

Another deep, dark chuckle that sent waves of heat to pool between your legs again. He knew that he had you wrapped around his finger, that you were already far, _far_ gone, that you had gone into free-fall as soon as he had kissed you; but he oh so loved to play little games. 

He sat back up, a flick of his wrist and his pants were gone – his underwear the only barrier left. The hungry look in your eyes once they fell on the prominent bulge pressing against the fabric, the way your hands tightened ever so slightly in anticipation, the way you bit your lip as your imagination was already running wild – how he had imagined it, had imagined you beneath him, squirming with pleasure. But never had he thought, never – 

He stopped breathing for a second when you glanced up to meet his gaze, lust and love mixed in the beautiful colours of your eyes. They were sparkling; the moonlight illuminating your body in a way that made his heart miss a beat. 

Never had he dared to hope you would fall in love with him. 

Another flick of his wrist, and his undergarment was gone as well. He loved your little gasp at the sight of him, a bit of fear in your eyes as you took in his length, his girth, and realised that it might be a tight fit. He could see it all on your face like an open book.   
He bent down again, placing his hands beside your head to support himself as he placed his knees between yours. He could almost hear you swallow, could almost hear your heart pick up its pace a bit. He couldn't deny that the same happened to him. He met your gaze and held it as he slowly rubbed his member over your folds, coating himself in your slickness, before aligning the tip with your entrance. 

He waited. You nodded. 

And he slid inside. Sound flowed from your throat, from _his_ throat, as he pushed in all the way to the hilt and you arched your back to wrap your arms around him, to bury your face in his neck as to deal with the overwhelming sensation. He groaned – you were so warm, so wet, so tight; clenching around him at the sudden invasion while your nails dug into his shoulders, and he could feel his mind cloud because of it. 

He loved you. He had fallen in love with you like you had fallen in love with him, and he hadn't been able to stop himself. It had been foolish to follow you those days after you had... _greeted_ him, but the gentle and loving touch, the soft strokes of your hands and the weary yet fond look in your eyes; it had been what he had needed. What he _still_ needed. 

He pulled out a bit – not too far, just to let you get accustomed to him inside of you – and gingerly pushed back in, shuddering at the pleasure that rippled through him. Your name spilled from his lips at the same time you moaned his, a cascade of soft ' _yes yes yes_ ' flowing out of your lungs in a single breath only to roll over his neck and shoulder, and it gave him goosebumps. You loved him. You had fallen in love with him like he had fallen in love with you, and you hadn't been able to stop yourself – the thought alone was nearly enough for him to spill himself inside of you. 

But he managed to control himself, to pull out again, further this time, before thrusting back in. The little cry from your lips was worth all of Asgard and more, and he wanted to hear it again and again and again. Your breasts pressed against his chest as you clung to him like he was the last thing keeping you alive and you even bit down onto his shoulders – softly at first, as if you were afraid of hurting him, but when he started picking up the pace you bit down harder and harder; though you would never manage to pierce his skin. The scent of your arousal and your sweat and your hair worked like a drug and he was addicted, oh so addicted, that he feared he might never be able to let go of you again. 

 

You could feel him throbbing inside of you, stretching you, filling you all the way with every thrust that hit deep and sent bolts of electricity up your spine and into your brain. With your legs wrapped around his waist he could push all the way to the end, and you were drowning; drowning in lust and pleasure. His name kept falling from your lips. You could barely handle how he picked up the speed, how he started slamming into you almost violently, the tip of his cock hitting hard against your cervix and causing you to be louder than you had ever been before. 

It was a godly sensation. 

A snort escaped you at the wordplay and a breath that was more moan than laugh huffed from your lungs as your abdominal muscles contracted- 

His member twitched and his seed shot through you, sending your head back in another cry as the realisation pushed you right over the edge with him and stars exploded behind your eyes, your walls clenching tightly around him and forcing more moans and curses from his throat. He kept thrusting a few more times, riding out both your orgasms, before pulling out and moving to sit back up on his knees. 

Had you... Had you just made him come by _laughing_?

He met your gaze with a slight hint of confusion, and you giggled. Yes, yes you had. You made a sloppy gesture to wave it off, fondness easily finding its way into your eyes and smile as you lay spread out and well-fucked onto the sheets. 

“I'm not laughing at you, it's just-” your panting prevented you from speaking for a few seconds. “It's just- a stupid pun-” You let out another breathy giggle, chest rising high and falling low as the air passed through your lungs. “You fuck like a true god.” 

He opened his mouth, and closed it again, at a loss for words, until you sat up and pressed a kiss against his lips. He wrapped his arms around you. 

“Can I take that as a sign that I tried hard enough?” He placed a kiss on your jaw, your neck. 

You hummed contently. “You certainly did.” 

“Oh, but I do not think I believe you.” 

You blinked. “What?-” 

Without a warning he turned you around and let you softly fall onto the mattress, before pulling your rear up in the air. Your eyes were wide, but you couldn't see him with your cheek pressed into the bed, and you gasped when you felt his cool finger run over your slit. 

“You don't seem too convinced. Perhaps another try is in its place.” 

You could hear his smirk in that beautiful, deep voice of his, but before you had had the chance to process his words he shoved himself inside of you again, and you cried out. He felt even bigger in this position, his thrusts seemingly even _deeper_ , and no breath was soundless anymore as he fucked you from behind. You didn't even notice him bending over before you felt his lips pressing a gentle kiss against your spine, his thrusts never slowing, and when his finger found the sensitive bud you didn't register anything else anymore – only the pleasure. Every time he slammed his cock into you stars danced in front of your closed eyes and one orgasm flowed into the next, until every inch of you was oversensitive and trembling. 

Once more he came inside of you, your name rumbling through the room, and when he pulled out and let go of your hips – which were most certainly going to be bruised tomorrow – you couldn't move a muscle. This wasn't a gentle afterglow; it was a long-lasting euphoria, your soul feeling disconnected from your limp body and floating in a world where only bliss existed. 

 

He lowered himself down next to you, taking your naked form into his arms and pulling you closer – both because he needed you against him and because you would fall off the bed otherwise. Through the haze of the deep serenity he studied your face. Your eyes were closed, your hair tousled, and a prominent blush coloured your sweaty cheeks. You were beautiful. 

He moved his hand over your warm, flushed skin and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, before pressing a long kiss against your forehead. Slowly, as you re-found your energy or maybe the control over your muscles, your hand came up to cup his jaw, your eyes opening ever so slightly. Your thumb brushed over his cheek and he leaned into the touch, soothing the pain that resided in his heart. 

He could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it ends! Well, for now. I'm not going to continue unless people commission me for new chapters, as I'm pretty tight on money right now. We're finally going to move out of this shitty situation! I'm so incredibly happy aaa
> 
> So yeah, if you want more smut/more chapters you can always commission me (prices found on my profile page) and if you don't, I hope you liked it!

**Author's Note:**

> I hoped you liked it! Please leave a comment or some kudos to let me know what you think; and if you spot a typo or a different error, feel free to tell me! (´ω｀)  
> Here's my blog!  
> http://feelingwonderfultoday.tumblr.com
> 
> If you like this so far and enjoy slow burns, please go check out Fǫruneyti as well! 
> 
> Thank you for reading ♡


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